


Prompt No.9 - Shackled

by orphan_account



Series: Hamilton Whumptober 2019 [9]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Captivity, Concussions, Gen, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Vomiting, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-31 05:53:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21089384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Alexander and Hercules are held captive and shackled together, and with relatively flimsy cooperation, they escape together only somewhat unscathed.For Whumptober 2019Prompt No.9 - Shackled





	Prompt No.9 - Shackled

**Author's Note:**

> Yo I was watching Prodigal Son and they mentioned this guy Lin Manuel Miranda and I thought I recognized that name. It sounded familiar, you know? I think it's because he's the guy that owns that musical...what's it called? Oh right. Hamilton. It's his. Not mine.

Their captor’s voices echoed through the trees as they gossiped about their favorite and least favorite horses, the campfire spitting up at the group of men every few moments as they talked languidly and tossed wood into the hungry flames.Night began to settle, sinking them deeper and deeper into a bruising blue sky, the stars just beginning to shine, the moon high above them in full. Hercules shifted, the manacles on his right wrist biting as he awkwardly adjusted for a better angle to his left. His fingers bent awkwardly as he wriggled the metal pin in the socket of the cuffs secured around his left wrist. Without any leverage save for his palm and the strength of his pointer and thumb, he tread carefully, not daring to drop the pin and lose their only chance of escape.

Behind him, Alexander tilted himself higher and more to his right, allowing easier access for Hercules to try and unlock his manacle. He grunted in discomfort.

The height difference made for a difficult and uncomfortable time for both men: sitting back-to-back with fifty pounds and nearly a foot between them, Hercules found his shoulders aching after only a few minutes. The manacles conjoining their wrists together gave them little slack nor reprieve, stinging as they sat too-tight and cold in the bitter winter chill. And with how much he had to squint in order to even see straight in the darkness, Hercules guessed they had been sitting - asses numb and stomachs empty - for nearly a whole day. The hunger ate him inside and out, his gut chewing on anything it could, twisting his innards until he felt as if he were going to vomit. Hercules doubted Alexander felt any better.

But, hours ago, that was all forgotten as soon as Alexander had whispered, “I have a pin.” It was a tiny, cylindrical tube of metal, solid but skinny and flimsy in Hercules’ fingers. Alexander had pulled it from inside his coat - a fancy dress suit, made to impress a line of generals in Philadelphia once they had arrived - and passed it to Hercules carefully, then saying, “Now get us out of here.”

Alexander had known about Hercules’ past as a rather delinquent young man, breaking into shops and stores alike, stealing for his friends and family who were not as well off as those around them. He had known that the past usually made him tense, but had passed Hercules the pin nonetheless.

Hercules had swallowed his shame whole and set to work lock-picking.

It had been hours. Since midday. And the exhaustion was setting in deep, deeper than anything Hercules had felt before.

He cleared his dry throat and licked his lips tentatively. Their captors laughed loudly, ringing in Hercules’ ears as he struggled to tune them out and just focus. He felt the pin give deep inside the chamber of the cuff. “I’ve almost got it.”

Alexander grunted in pain as Hercules leaned further against him.

The aide had been crunched into himself for  _ hours _ , allowing Hercules to do his work, having full faith in him that he could break their shackles and get them free. The selfless bastard. At first sign of his discomfort, Hercules had eased off him a bit, slowly, before Alexander had growled, “Do what you need to do.” And Hercules did. He pushed against Alexander for hours and worked as fast as his numb fingers could.

“I’m thirsty.” Alexander said, splitting the silence.

One of the men glanced over at them, and Hercules froze. He forced his face into a neutral expression as he looked at his feet. “Be quiet.” he hissed.

“...And hungry.”

“I  _ know _ , Alexander. Now be quiet.” Hercules swallowed tight.

It was concerning. Either Alexander suddenly had no care for their captors mere feet away, or he was too concussed to realize how loud he was being; both sat uneasy in Hercules’ stomach.

He damned the man that cracked Alexander across the head with a musket. While he hadn’t been able to see Alexander, what with them being shackled back-to-back at the wrists, he had heard the wood connect solidly with Alexander’s skull. He had felt Alexander go limp for a moment, taking the brunt of their weight as his arms seized awkwardly in his sockets to accommodate Alexander’s sudden slack. He had smelled and practically tasted the bright tang of blood in the cold air, and he damned that man.

Of which who stalked towards them slowly.

“Hey! You!” Hercules glanced up. The man was pointing towards Alexander with a bony finger, musket tucked under his arm. “What’s so interesting? What are you talking of?”

Alexander rolled his head back against Hercules’ shoulder to get a look at the man. Hercules glared down at him. He could barely make out Alexander’s loopy smile in his fuzzy periphery. “Me?”

“Yes, you!” The man stood directly over them.

Alexander slumped further against Hercules as he mumbled, “Nothing, really. I am quite hungry, though. Perhaps you--”

Distantly, Hercules eyed one man disappear from the circle of firelight.

“Want me to crack your skull open again?” The man’s fingers rapped against his musket, eyebrows high.

Alexander shrugged weakly. “Not especially, no.”

“Then shut the fuck up.”

“All right.” Alexander bowed his head.

All the while, Hercules’ heart throbbed in his throat. He struggled not to breathe to give himself away but also struggled to breathe as normally as possible, his brain quickening his blood, sharpening his senses as fear and adrenaline hit him hard. As the man turned on his heel, Hercules wrenched the pin faster.

He  _ needed _ to get away. To run. He had no other plan then to escape, and escape is what he would do. But then Alexander moved, sliding too far left, and the pin nearly flipped out of his fingers as extra weight nudged his arm down, his wrist bending at the pivot point and his hand curling against the cold forest floor. Hercules groaned with frustration.

“Alexander,” He tried to crane his neck. He whisper-screamed, “Sit up!”

“I apologize,” Alexander straightened stiffly. “I...feel quite dizzy.”

With the weight off his left arm, Hercules wriggled the pin again. He heard a thick click and the cuff popped off. The skin of his wrist breathed, cooled in the night air, and Hercules sighed softly as he slowly rolled his shoulder and inched away from Alexander’s back.

Alexander jerked forward. Hercules threw himself back against Alexander, fumbling to move in time, making a convincing look of their conjoined state should their captors glance over. He heard Alexander sputter, and choke on something, before he smelled the sick. “Jesus, man...”

A grunt came from behind him. “I apologize--” He was cut off by more vomit as he lurched forward again.

Their kidnappers watched from the campfire, chortling in their direction. Hercules’ fists tightened. He ran his tongue over his teeth. If they were to walk over, to come any closer...

A wet gasp shook him from his brief revere as Alexander snapped upright and said, “Are they...laughing at me?”

“Does it matter?” Hercules asked.

Alexander breathed out, “Ah, yes.” He shifted against Hercules’ back and dazedly offered, “It would prove useful to know whose teeth I am knocking out, yes?”

Hercules snorted out a laugh. “I see. You think yourself a condition to fight? Admirable.” He glanced over his shoulder to check over Alexander, but only saw his half-lidded eyes and dark hair hiding most of his face. The desperate desire to want to turn around and pick Alexander up and just  _ run _ was nearly overwhelming. “Alexander,” Hercules murmured. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Alexander nodded curtly. “I am...feeling faint...”

When the men at the campsite all had their backs to them, Hercules twisted around, on his knees, holding Alexander by the shoulder with his freed hand. He cursed through clenched teeth at Alexander’s frightening sight.

Dried black blood crusted to the side of Alexander’s face from a now-congealed flap of ripped skin at his hairline, the caked mess painted down to his chin and neck, soaking the front of his clothes. His pupils were blown, visible even in the darkness, as his lids fluttered involuntarily. Alexander stared up at him with a bewildered stare, his mouth hanging open. “What…? The cuffs...?”

“What?” Hercules’ heart skipped. “You don’t remember?”

“Remember?” Alexander squinted. “No...I--”

Hercules interrupted, “We need to get you out of here.”

“I am  _ fine _ .” Alexander bit out, eyebrows narrowing. “Just...tired.”

Hercules nodded. “Of course.” He glanced over Alexander, at their captors. Luckily, night’s blanket had already fully draped over them, the forest nearly pitch dark save for the echoing red of the fire and the winking of the stars above, hiding them in the nothingness. Securing their location, he scanned around for horses. Three were tied to a tree near the campsite, munching leisurely on dried grasses and twigs, secured within the ring of the firelight. Hercules focused back on Alexander. 

Alexander’s eyes were closed, his head sinking to the side as he slipped into sleep. “Alexander?”

“Yes?” Alexander jerked alert loudly.

“Quietly,” Hercules held a hand over Alexander’s mouth and asked, “Are you able to stand?”

After a brief pause and a rather confused look, Alexander said, muffled behind Hercules’ palm, “I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Hercules’ hand dropped.

“I may vomit again, but I will...aim for the enemy.” Alexander offered dully. He slowly got his knees under him despite the slight fumbling from the loss of balance at his still-shackled left hand. Once seated on his heels, he asked, “How are we to escape?”

“By horse.” Hercules said. He gestured to the closer two. “Though, I am unsure as to how, yet.”

Alexander turned around to glance at their goal. “I see.” He faced Hercules again with a sour grimace as he pulled up their interlocked wrists. “And what of this?”

“It took me hours to get one, Alexander.” Hercules huffed. “Would you like to wait until daybreak for the other three?”

Alexander deflated. “Perhaps not.”

“Let me think a moment. A plan will come to me soon enough.” Hercules said.

“Hey, you two!”

Both Hercules and Alexander whipped around. Approaching from the bowels of the dark forest. Hercules’ blood curdled: the man from earlier. He had completely slipped Hercules’ mind. “Fuck, I forgot about him...”

“Indeed.” Alexander breathed.

The man began rushing forward. Alexander jumped to his feet. He dragged Hercules along. The sudden movement alerted the other men around the fire. Their shouts rang throughout the forest. “Shit! Alexander--!”

Alexander said, “Run!” He broke into a sprint, Hercules directly at his left. The man before them froze. “Legs!” Alexander shouted. Hercules ducked low in sync with Alexander’s fumbling movements, both skidding across the forest floor as they pulled their shackled hands apart and the chain taut, successfully clothes-lining the man at the shins and flipping him over himself until he collided to the ground with a sharp crack.

“Jesus Christ!” But Hercules smiled. His heart sang.

Alexander turned to him with a loopy grin. “That actually worked…”

“To the horses.” Hercules yanked Alexander’s chained wrist, catching his attention at the other men either rushing them with bayonets or loading their muskets.

Alexander jerked him towards the forest. “A better idea!” He nodded to Hercules and broke into a run before screaming out, “Buttercup!”

One of the horses snapped its head in attention. She whinnied and stomped on the hard dirt. “Here! Here girl! Buttercup!”

The horse reared up on her hind legs. The pathetic knot around her saddle loosened. The horse snapped to the ground and surged forward, startling their captors as she rushed forward. She barreled past the men and straight for Alexander. The horse stopped in front of him, skidding in the dirt, hyper and ready to run, and Alexander exclaimed, “That’s a girl!”

Alexander jumped to the stirrup, hauling himself over unsteadily. Hercules held onto the saddle in a white-knuckled death-grip with his free hand, his sweaty fingers slipping on the cool leather. Their captors shouted and a pop of gunfire followed. Hercules ducked instinctively. Alexander grabbed his coat collar with his free hand and screamed, “Up! Get up!”

Hercules hauled himself up in front of Alexander. Kicking the horse forward with a snap of the reigns and a sharp, “Yah!”

For a tentative moment, Hercules expected to be shot off the horse. He expected the men to shoot at them and stab them with their bayonets. But then it hit him how  _ fast _ the horse was running and how the trees whipped past them like blurs and blobs of black in the otherwise shadowy grey backdrop of the night forest. He couldn’t make out their shapes, only focusing on what was ahead of him.

Alexander clung to him, his free arm around his waist as the other hung limply with both of Hercules’ hands holding the reigns. As he slowed the horse to a jog, Hercules breathed in the cold. It burned his cheeks and eyes and left his mouth dry and bones sore but he felt as if he could relax for the first time in hours. Slowly, he craned his head and asked over the wailing wind, “How do you feel?”

Alexander settled more heavily against his back.

“How did you know the horse’s name?” Hercules tried instead.

Alexander shifted. His breath was hot against Hercules’ neck as he shouted, “Earlier, they were talking! They said she was the skittish one!”

\--

Alexander had passed out soon into the ride. Hercules had felt him go slack against him, the free arm slipped around Hercules’ waist suddenly losing its grip and sliding as Alexander listed to the left. Hercules had grabbed Alexander’s arm, risking his control of their horse to pull Alexander upright and, for the remainder of the ride, he trusted Buttercup to keep them on track as he held Alexander’s arm against his stomach.

And, in silence, Hercules traveled.

Alexander was unmoving, hot presence against Hercules’ back the entire time, keeping him oddly warm even in the winter cold. His heart had pattered in his chest, practically tasting the anxiety of the situation. He had resolved himself to rub his thumb into the crook between Alexander’s thumb and pointer finger, soothing himself more than the unconscious man behind him. It eased the tension in his shoulders only slightly.

As they galloped through the last legs of their journey, Hercules’ eyes burned at the sight of their camp. He swallowed thick tears of relief, of the realization that they were  _ home _ , that  _ Alexander _ was finally home and could get the help he likely needed.

The torches in the camp had been snuffed out, and the tents were all crowded together to make themselves look smaller and more obscured in the tiny clearing. Murmurs of the soldiers reached Hercules’ wind whipped ears as they trotted closer.

They reached the outskirts of the tents, and Hercules slowed the horse. A soldier blinked up at him, musket resting on his shoulder. “Mister Mulligan, sir. We thought it was you approaching. Thank God we were right. The general has been awaiting--...Is that mister Hamilton?”

Hercules turned, acknowledging Alexander. “Tell the general we will be in the medic’s tent. And fetch a blacksmith, if you would?” And, with it said, he kicked Buttercup forward. The horse walked quickly through the campsite, dodging men crossing from tent to tent. They stopped before the tent and Hercules smiled weakly as the sight of a slightly disheveled, very tired looking John Laurens.

“You’re late.” John folded his arms across his chest. “I expected you two here hours ago.” In the dim light of the torches, Hercules could make out where John had bit his nails down to nubs from anxiety, likely, and felt his lungs squeeze in sympathy.

Hercules hummed casually, “We were occupied.”

“I see that.” He traveled down to where Alexander slumped against Hercules’ back. John gently eased Alexander away, holding him up with one hand on his lower back. “What happened?” John asked, voice pinched. He gingerly scooted Alexander down off the horse and into his arms, mindful of their still shackled wrists. “He’s not bleeding anymore…”

“No.” Hercules stared down at the pallid, slack expression of Alexander as John hiked him higher into his arms. Alexander’s cheek squished against John’s shoulder. He mumbled in his sleep, turning into John, his eyelashes fluttering like ghosts against his cheeks. Damn, he looked young. Hercules sighed, and explained, “He was hit. With a musket. We were headed back here when he said he heard something. The kid saved me from getting a gun to the teeth. Took it with his forehead instead, however.”

“That’s our Alexander.” John smiled.

Hercules nodded and pulled himself up off the horse. He patted her neck as he said, “It is, isn’t it...” In his periphery, the doctor, blacksmith, and tall shadow of Washington walked forward. Hercules’ shoulders relaxed and he took a deep breath. He glanced back at Alexander, though, and his throat worked against a sudden surge of tears. If he had been more careful on their scouting expedition, Alexander wouldn’t have gotten hit, they wouldn’t have gotten captured.

“He’ll be all right.” John said suddenly. His eyes were taking in Hercules’ tight expression. “He has quite a rather large brain; I’m sure he hasn’t a need for  _ all  _ of it.” John grinned.

Hercules huffed a laugh. “Indeed.”

As the others approached and Alexander became the center of their attention, Hercules turned away and blinked tears from his glassy eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I am backeth. And tiredeth.
> 
> For real, I've had project after project back-to-back, and I have a lot of assignments to do lately. As midterms approach/pass, I too approach and pass through to the realm of the sleep deprived college student. So...yeah, definitely will be seeing whumpnovember or whatever I called it last time.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! I couldn't think of a decent story idea for this one so I just ran with it! It's not my favorite it certainly doesn't have to be yours, either! Let's hope I can update tomorrow!


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